


The Unmade Bed

by 60r3d0m



Series: Season 12 Coda Collection [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also Adventures in Formatting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel in the Bunker, Episode: s12e19 The Future, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt Dean, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining Dean, Season/Series 12, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 13:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10765509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/60r3d0m/pseuds/60r3d0m
Summary: He’s only three steps down the hallway when he turns back. He’s three steps away and he’s anxious and his heart’s beating fast and then three more steps and he’s back and he...he doesn't know what he's about to say.Cas has moved since he left. He’s wandered over to the little Men of Letters safe that’s in Dean’s room and Cas’ fingers are running over the metal.“You can’t leave,” Dean says, because of course that's what comes out of his goddamn mouth. “You stupid son of a bitch, you can’t leave anymore, alright?”Cas’ fingers freeze on the safe. Cas swallows and he doesn't meet Dean's eyes.“I thought you needed a beer,” Cas says and Dean just says, “No. I just...I just need you.”





	1. Original Formatting

**Author's Note:**

> Just casually writing from beyond the grave...
> 
> Cause of Death: He gave him a MIXTAPE (!)
> 
> In other words, this episode killed me.
> 
> **Note: The formatting is deliberately unconventional. Some parts of this fic. won't display properly if you read it in mobile mode. If you're on mobile or if the formatting is a little hard on your eyes, skip on to chapter two which is an easier to read version :)**

It’s the hardest thing to do, after Cas leaves him.

It’s the hardest thing to do, picking himself off of that playground floor.

 

 

 

 

He’s awake for minutes before he hears Sam groan from behind him. He hears Sam’s bones creak as Sam pulls himself to his feet, batting the sand away from his clothes. There’s sand on Dean, too. It’s there beneath his cheek, grain clinging to his skin,

jagged rocks

from the gravel biting into him. He can smell the chalky dry dust that Sam’s disturbed with his movements.

 

 

All of it passes through him as he breathes.

All of it settles there deep inside of his lungs.

 

 

When Sam’s done cleaning himself off, he kneels down beside Dean and tries to shake him awake. But then he sees that Dean’s eyes are already open. He sees Dean, curled in on himself, staring out into the abyss. Into the cold black nothingness that

 

 

 

Cas left him

 

 

 

in.

 

 

 

The night.

He’s not sure if he sees anything.

He doesn’t move.

 

 

 

 

“Dean?” Sam says.

He’s alarmed, and he shakes Dean’s shoulder a little harder. Cups Dean’s face in his hand and directs Dean to look at him. “Hey, Dean, come on. Come on. Get up, Dean.”

 

 

 

It’s the hardest thing to do, picking himself off of that playground floor.

 

 

 

He shudders as he does it, legs suddenly wobbly. Teeth chattering even though damn it, it’s not that cold, it’s only

the night.

 

Sam holds him by the arm. He guides Dean to his feet. He presses Dean’s forgotten phone into his hands.

It must have fallen out of his pocket during the fight.

 

 

 

 

Seven unanswered calls, the phone will remind him.

 

 

 

 

Sam drives while Dean stares out the passenger seat. They’re not far away from the bunker, but Sam keeps glancing at him the whole way there.

 

Worried looks.

Uneasy looks.

 

When they reach home, Dean gets out of the Impala and stands on shaky feet.

 

Do you wanna talk about it? Sam says.

Do you want to…find him, Dean?

But of course they will.

That’s what you do

when you love

him.

 

_He…_

_He stole_ …

The light in Dean—

—in Dean’s room is still on.

The pillow’s thrown and the bed’s unmade.

Cas stole the fucking Colt and the bed’s goddamn unmade.

 

 

 

_Need a beer_ , Dean thinks.

 

 

 

_“It’s a gift,” he says. It’s a gift so, “you keep those.”_

_Cas tilts his head a little. Takes back the cassette tape and gingerly holds it in his hand. He steps back and his expression is respectful._

_Distant._

_Careful._

_He’s going to leave again._

_So “Cas, you can’t,” he says._

 

 

 

 

The bed’s unmade.

Dean takes in a shaky breath.

Rubs his hands over his face.

But…

the bed’s unmade.

 

 

 

 

_“We didn’t know what happened to you.”_

I didn’t know _._

_“We were worried.”_

I was worried _._

_You don’t return a fucking mixtape, you idiot._

_That means…_

_I love you._

 

 

 

 

It hits him all of a sudden.

He’s holding his hands over his face and then

he

just

can’t

breathe.

 

 

 

 

_How’s he supposed to look at him?_

_It’s—_

_He schools his eyes. He looks at Cas but not quite. His face is hot._

_“We’re just better together,” he says and he swallows and then Cas knows._

 

 

 

 

There’s a strange sound that escapes his lips.

A low moan.

A wail maybe.

It’s not long. It’s not loud.

It’s

 

strangled.

 

It’s him.

 

It’s when he convulses for the first time, with that first bit of a dry sob that he realizes that he can’t bite the pain back anymore.

It’s too much.

It’s

everywhere.

And it’s

violating.

 

 

 

The bulb in the lamp in his room flickers. He holds onto the door frame. He stands on the threshold while he gasps for air.

_I need you,_ he thinks.

With closed eyes,

_I need you_.

 

 

 

 

_Cas knows._

_He knows because everything, all of it, it’s written on Dean’s face._

_Dean can’t hide it._

_Weeks of Cas_

_gone,_

_missing,_

_maybe dead,_

_maybe being tortured,_

_maybe in jail—did he check the one in Baltimore already?_

_did he check the one there?—_

_or not in jail,_

_maybe…_

_Weeks._

 

_It’s weeks of this burden that Dean’s carried around, and all of the fucking pining, and Cas’ I love you, and Dean, making Cas the freaking mixtape because Cas just needs to_ know _, damn it, even though Cas tries to return the goddamn thing._

_We’re better together, Dean tells him, and he can’t even pretend anymore that he’s talking about Sam—even though he tries._

 

_Cas sees it all over his face._

_And then Dean sees something in Cas’ face, too._

_It makes him run._

_Beer, he’ll say._

_Beer will be his excuse._

 

 

 

 

Dean enters his bedroom and shuts the door.

And then

_the bed’s unmade_ , he thinks.

 

 

 

 

_He’s only three steps down the hallway when he turns back. He’s three steps away and he’s anxious and his heart’s beating fast and then three more steps and he’s back._

_Cas has moved since he left. He’s wandered over to the little Men of Letters safe that’s in Dean’s room and Cas’ fingers are running over the metal._

_“You can’t leave,” Dean says. “You stupid son of a bitch, you can’t leave anymore, alright?”_

_Cas’ fingers freeze on the safe._

_“I thought you needed a beer,” Cas says and Dean says,_

_“No. I just need_

_you.”_

 

 

 

He tries to fix the unmade bed.

He picks up the pillow from the floor and puts it back in place.

When he sits on the edge and rubs his hands over his face again, he cries loud and ugly.   

 

 

 

 

_They don’t_

_move._

_Cas swallows and sways on the spot._

_“I said that I’m staying, Dean,” he says. “I said that I’m not going.”_

_But maybe he knows that Dean doesn’t believe him._

_Dean stands tense in the doorway. His fingers are_

_curled_

_into fists._

_He’s so tense that he could be stone._

_And then Cas approaches, slow step by slow step._

_He comes by taking an eternity to get there and Dean’s eyes widen and his breath hitches when Cas presses a hand to his cheek and holds his face._

_“I’m not leaving,” he says softly. “Dean…I_ know _.”_

 

 

 

 

He pulls out his phone.

His thumb shakes too hard to swipe anything.

But then there’s a message that pops up on the screen. 

 

 

 

 

_Cas’ fingers stroke his cheek and Dean shuts his eyes tight._

_Maybe it’s_

 

_not real._

 

_Yet Cas’ fingers are soft and gentle._

_They run through his hair, tuck a loose strand back into place and then they fall away._

_But then Cas wraps his arms around him and “I’m not leaving,” he says_.

 

 

 

 

SAM: are you okay, man?

Dean presses DELETE.

 

 

 

 

_It’s not sex that Dean needs. It’s just closeness that he craves._

_Cas shuts the door quietly and leads him to bed._

_He pushes Dean in. He unmakes the made bed. And then he curls up behind Dean._

_“Is this alright?” Cas asks._

_Dean pushes his back against Cas’ chest and_

_it’s so hot. It’s a_

_furnace._

_“Cas, can you…” He swallows._

_His voice rasps and comes out unused._

_“Hold me,” Dean says_.

 

 

 

 

There’s a

satisfying crack.

When he

flings

the phone.

 

 

 

 

_He can’t see Cas’ face. He’s too busy staring into the_

_cold black nothingness_

_of the shadows that creep in the corners of his room._

_He leans his head back, against Cas’ chest. And “you’re doing it wrong,” he says, when he notices Cas’ fingers, too_

_light_

_on his waist._

_It takes him a moment to reach out for Cas’ hand, but he takes it. And he holds it. He wants to press Cas’ hand so_

_tight_

_all around him, but then the fingers fit so perfectly in his._

_He grips so hard that if Cas weren’t an angel, maybe then Cas’ fingers would_

_break._

 

_“What am I doing wrong?” Cas asks_.

 

 

 

 

Dean pulls the laces of his boots apart.

He stops after he pulls off one shoe.

 

 

 

 

_They stay like that for long._

_Cas stays sometimes too perfectly still, sometimes too much statue and his arms around Dean, his hand in Dean’s hand, it’ll be…_

_But then Cas breathes, warm against Dean’s neck, and then Cas’ll be too much coat._

_When Dean turns around to face him and take it off of him, Cas finally relaxes without his trench._

_Cas’ fingers get brave again._

_This time when he skims them over Dean’s cheek, he brings his mouth experimentally close._

_And he waits_.

 

 

 

 

He runs out his room. His bare feet are silent on the floor but even then, Sam sees him.

“Dean?”

Sam follows him to the library.

Sam watches over his shoulder as Dean fumbles through a cabinet.

It’s where they keep their spare phones.

But Dean

 

can’t find

 

one.

 

 

 

“I broke my phone,” Dean says. In a rush. He’s breathing sofastsopanicked and his hands keep shaking. “What if he calls, Sammy? What if he wants to talk to me?”

 

 

 

Dean,

 

Sam says. “Dean—he’s

 

too far

 

gone.

 

He won’t call.”

We have to find him.

 

 

 

 

_Dean looks at Cas._

_Their gaze is strong and unbreakable._

_Cas’ mouth is_

_close._

_Dean closes his eyes and kisses him_.

 

 

 

 

Dean’s led back to his room.

Sam’s hold on him

 

hurts.

 

 

 

When Dean gets back, he tries again to make his bed.

 

 

 

 

 

_They don’t mean to—or at least—Dean doesn’t mean to._

_But it happens._

_Their quiet peace becomes_

_broken._

_It’s not enough to lie there and hold each other. It’s hot, hot mouths and hands running along waists and heaviness, so much heaviness, when Dean rolls onto his back and Cas is hovering over him._

_The Colt underneath the pillow peeks out and Cas’ eyes_

_gleam._

 

_Dean grins._

_“I, uh, like to keep it close,” he says and he’s shy. But then he angles his hips upwards and rolls them against Cas’ hardness._

_Dangerous,_

_Cas tells him, but he lets Dean keep the gun under his pillow while he kisses him_.

 

 

 

 

“Dean, go to bed,” Sam says.

Why are you making the bed now?

It’s still

night.

 

 

 

 

_Dean squeezes his eyes shut the whole time_

_as they rock their bodies                                                                                            together._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_As they climb            closer                    and                                       closer                                                                              closer_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_to their peak._

 

 

_When they’re almost there, Dean wraps his arms around Cas. Wraps his legs around Cas’ and it’s a bear hug, maybe, and he presses his face into Cas’ neck, breathes in his scent and “need you,” he mumbles, “always here.”_

_“I’m not leaving,” Cas promises, again, and he strokes Dean’s throbbing length in just the right way, and Dean pants. He clutches Cas so hard as if this is the only way that he won’t fall        a p a r t._

 

_Dean makes the mistake of_

 

_believing_

 

_him._

 

 

 

 

“Dean,” Sam says, as he sees Dean throw the blankets to the floor. As he sees Dean toss the pillow again and unmake his bed even more.

“Dean,” Sam says, when Dean destroys it.

 

 

 

 

_They stay in the bed for so long._

_Cas holds him and kisses him and runs his fingers through Dean’s hair so soothingly, so sweetly._

_He…_

_When Dean lets Cas help him dress again, Dean doesn’t look back before he leaves the room._

_He knows Cas will still be there._

_But after his conversation with Sam, he searches his bed and then he searches Cas’._

 

_Both are empty_.

 

 

 

 

“He fucked me, Sam,” Dean says and god, the fury. The fury. “He fucked me like I was nobody and he left.”

Sam sees the unmade bed and maybe he realizes for the first time.

“He said he would stay,” Dean says and his voice cracks. “He said he wouldn’t go.”

 

 

 

 

_Dean pins him against the wall. Dean pins Cas and he still remembers the sensation of Cas’ hardness against his. Still remembers hips meeting hips. He’s livid but he still thinks Cas is on his side, and it’s too early to feel betrayed._

_“Dean!” Sam chastises while Dean grits his teeth and squares his jaw and looks at Cas, looks at Cas, and Cas holds it, holds the look. He's so defiant when he meets Dean’s eyes._

 

_Dean could kiss him._

 

_Even if it’s the wrong move._

 

_“Dean!” Sam says and_

_Dean’s so_

_vulnerable,_

_so_

 

_far gone_

 

_in love and so caught up._

 

 

 

_We’re not done, he doesn’t say, but_

 

_he lets Cas go_

 

_and lets his eyes devour the sight of Cas’ mouth before_

 

_he moves away_.

 

 

 

 

His new phone starts ri n  g   ing.

It’s been so many days since he left.

But the caller’s never Cas.

 

 

 

 

_Don’t, he says and it’s a final warning that things will never be the same, if Cas goes._

_Cas touches his forehead anyway._

_When he wakes up, he lies there_

_still_.

 

 

 

 

It’s the Men of Letters and it’s chasing, and killing, and murder.

It’s battles hard won and Lucifer and defeat.

It’s

 

all over.

 

 

 

 

He’s standing next to the wall, a hand outward to steady himself, and then—

and then it’s Cas, sane again, no golden eyes, and he’s standing maybe

five, six, seven feet away

and Dean’s breath still catches in his throat.

 

 

It’s Cas, it’s—a traitor, maybe, and Dean

doesn’t know

if he’s wanted anymore. And if Cas

and his dying  _I love you_ was even

 

real.

 

 

 

 

He stares at Cas with shocked eyes, because of course seeing Cas does _this_ to him and Cas just sees him, too.

Dean swallows.

He ought to look away.

But then Cas comes and he’s inches from him and when he suddenly wraps his arms around Dean, Dean just

 

melts.

 

 

 

 

They’re breathing hard for a moment, as if maybe they’ve been running,

                                                                                                        running,

                                                                                                              running after one another and Dean’s face is wet against Cas’ neck.

 

“I’m sorry,” Cas says then. “Dean, I’ll do anything. I’ll redeem myself—”

 

But shush.

Dean says,

Shut up.

 

It’s enough to just hold you here.


	2. Mobile Version

It’s the hardest thing to do, after Cas leaves him.

It’s the hardest thing to do, picking himself off of that playground floor. 

 

 

He’s awake for minutes before he hears Sam groan from behind him. He hears Sam’s bones creak as Sam pulls himself to his feet, batting the sand away from his clothes. There’s sand on Dean, too. It’s there beneath his cheek, grain clinging to his skin, jagged rocks from the gravel biting into him. He can smell the chalky dry dust that Sam’s disturbed with his movements. All of it passes through him as he breathes. All of it settles there deep inside of his lungs. 

When Sam’s done cleaning himself off, he kneels down beside Dean and tries to shake him awake. But then he sees that Dean’s eyes are already open. He sees Dean, curled in on himself, staring out into the abyss. Into the cold black nothingness that Cas left him in.

  

 

The night.

He’s not sure if he sees anything.

He doesn’t move.

 

 

“Dean?” Sam says.

He’s alarmed, and he shakes Dean’s shoulder a little harder. Cups Dean’s face in his hand and directs Dean to look at him. “Hey, Dean, come on. Come on. Get up, Dean.” 

 

 

It’s the hardest thing to do, picking himself off of that playground floor.

 

 

He shudders as he does it, legs suddenly wobbly. Teeth chattering even though damn it, it’s not that cold, it’s only the night.

Sam holds him by the arm. He guides Dean to his feet. He presses Dean’s forgotten phone into his hands.

It must have fallen out of his pocket during the fight. 

 

 

Seven unanswered calls, the phone will remind him.

 

 

Sam drives while Dean stares out the passenger seat. They’re not far away from the bunker, but Sam keeps glancing at him the whole way there. Worried looks. Uneasy looks. When they reach home, Dean gets out of the Impala and stands on shaky feet.

 

 

Do you wanna talk about it? Sam says.

Do you want to…find him, Dean?

But of course they will.

That’s what you do when you love him.

 

 

 

 

_He…_

_He stole_ …

The light in Dean—

—in Dean’s room is still on.

The pillow’s thrown and the bed’s unmade.

Cas stole the fucking Colt and the bed’s goddamn unmade.

  

 

_Need a beer_ , Dean thinks.

 

 

 

 

_“It’s a gift,” he says. It’s a gift so, “you keep those.”_

_Cas tilts his head a little. Takes back the cassette tape and gingerly holds it in his hand. He steps back and his expression is respectful._

_Distant._

_Careful._

_He’s going to leave again._

_So “Cas, you can’t,” he says._

 

 

 

 

The bed’s unmade.

Dean takes in a shaky breath.

Rubs his hands over his face.

But…

the bed’s unmade.

 

 

 

 

_“We didn’t know what happened to you.”_

I didn’t know _._

_“We were worried.”_

I was worried _._

_You don’t return a fucking mixtape, you idiot._

_That means…_

_I love you._

 

 

 

 

It hits him all of a sudden.

He’s holding his hands over his face and then he just can’t breathe.

 

 

 

 

_How’s he supposed to look at him?_

_It’s—_

_He schools his eyes. He looks at Cas but not quite. His face is hot._

_“We’re just better together,” he says and he swallows and then Cas knows._

 

 

 

 

There’s a strange sound that escapes his lips.

A low moan.

A wail maybe.

It’s not long. It’s not loud.

It’s strangled. 

It’s him. 

It’s when he convulses for the first time, with that first bit of a dry sob that he realizes that he can’t bite the pain back anymore.

It’s too much.

It’s everywhere.

And it’s violating.

 

 

 

 

The bulb in the lamp in his room flickers. He holds onto the door frame. He stands on the threshold while he gasps for air.

_I need you,_ he thinks.

With closed eyes, _I need you_.

 

 

 

 

_Cas knows._

_He knows because everything, all of it, it’s written on Dean’s face._

_Dean can’t hide it._

_Weeks of Cas gone, missing, maybe dead, maybe being tortured, maybe in jail—did he check the one in Baltimore already? did he check the one there?—or not in jail, maybe…_

_Weeks._

 

_It’s weeks of this burden that Dean’s carried around, and all of the fucking pining, and Cas’ I love you, and Dean, making Cas the freaking mixtape because Cas just needs to_ know _, damn it, even though Cas tries to return the goddamn thing._

_We’re better together, Dean tells him, and he can’t even pretend anymore that he’s talking about Sam—even though he tries._

 

_Cas sees it all over his face._

_And then Dean sees something in Cas’ face, too._

_It makes him run._

_Beer, he’ll say._

_Beer will be his excuse._

 

 

 

 

Dean enters his bedroom and shuts the door.

And then  _the bed’s unmade_ , he thinks.

 

 

 

 

_He’s only three steps down the hallway when he turns back. He’s three steps away and he’s anxious and his heart’s beating fast and then three more steps and he’s back._

_Cas has moved since he left. He’s wandered over to the little Men of Letters safe that’s in Dean’s room and Cas’ fingers are running over the metal._

_“You can’t leave,” Dean says. “You stupid son of a bitch, you can’t leave anymore, alright?”_

_Cas’ fingers freeze on the safe._

_“I thought you needed a beer,” Cas says and Dean says, "No. I just need you.”_

 

 

 

He tries to fix the unmade bed.

He picks up the pillow from the floor and puts it back in place.

When he sits on the edge and rubs his hands over his face again, he cries loud and ugly.   

 

 

 

 

_They don’t move._

_Cas swallows and sways on the spot._

_“I said that I’m staying, Dean,” he says. “I said that I’m not going.”_

_But maybe he knows that Dean doesn’t believe him._

_Dean stands tense in the doorway. His fingers are curled into fists._ _He’s so tense that he could be stone._

_And then Cas approaches, slow step by slow step._ _He comes by taking an eternity to get there and Dean’s eyes widen and his breath hitches when Cas presses a hand to his cheek and holds his face._

_“I’m not leaving,” he says softly. “Dean…I_ know _.”_

 

 

 

 

He pulls out his phone.

His thumb shakes too hard to swipe anything.

But then there’s a message that pops up on the screen. 

 

 

 

 

_Cas’ fingers stroke his cheek and Dean shuts his eyes tight._

_Maybe it’s not real._

 

_Yet Cas’ fingers are soft and gentle._

_They run through his hair, tuck a loose strand back into place and then they fall away._

_But then Cas wraps his arms around him and “I’m not leaving,” he says_.

 

 

 

 

SAM: are you okay, man?

Dean presses DELETE.

 

 

 

 

_It’s not sex that Dean needs. It’s just closeness that he craves._

_Cas shuts the door quietly and leads him to bed._

_He pushes Dean in. He unmakes the made bed. And then he curls up behind Dean._

_“Is this alright?” Cas asks._

_Dean pushes his back against Cas’ chest and it’s so hot. It’s a furnace._

_“Cas, can you…”_

_He swallows._

_His voice rasps and comes out unused._

_“Hold me,” Dean says_.

 

 

 

 

There’s a satisfying crack.

When he flings the phone.

 

 

 

 

_He can’t see Cas’ face. He’s too busy staring into the cold black nothingness of the shadows that creep in the corners of his room._

_He leans his head back, against Cas’ chest. And “you’re doing it wrong,” he says, when he notices Cas’ fingers, too light on his waist. It takes him a moment to reach out for Cas’ hand, but he takes it. And he holds it. He wants to press Cas’ hand so tight all around him, but then the fingers fit so perfectly in his._

_He grips so hard that if Cas weren’t an angel, maybe then Cas’ fingers would break._

_“What am I doing wrong?” Cas asks_.

 

 

 

 

Dean pulls the laces of his boots apart.

He stops after he pulls off one shoe.

 

 

 

 

_They stay like that for long._

_Cas stays sometimes too perfectly still, sometimes too much statue and his arms around Dean, his hand in Dean’s hand, it’ll be…_

_But then Cas breathes, warm against Dean’s neck, and then Cas’ll be too much coat._

_When Dean turns around to face him and take it off of him, Cas finally relaxes without his trench._

_Cas’ fingers get brave again._

_This time when he skims them over Dean’s cheek, he brings his mouth experimentally close._

_And he waits_.

 

 

 

 

He runs out his room. His bare feet are silent on the floor but even then, Sam sees him.

“Dean?”

Sam follows him to the library.

Sam watches over his shoulder as Dean fumbles through a cabinet.

It’s where they keep their spare phones.

But Dean can’t find one.

 

 

“I broke my phone,” Dean says. In a rush. He’s breathing sofastsopanicked and his hands keep shaking. “What if he calls, Sammy? What if he wants to talk to me?”

 

 

Dean, Sam says. “Dean—he’s too far gone. He won’t call.”

We have to find him.

 

 

 

 

_Dean looks at Cas._

_Their gaze is strong and unbreakable._

_Cas’ mouth is close._

_Dean closes his eyes and kisses him_.

 

 

 

 

Dean’s led back to his room.

Sam’s hold on him hurts.

When Dean gets back, he tries again to make his bed.

 

 

 

 

_They don’t mean to—or at least—Dean doesn’t mean to._

_But it happens._

_Their quiet peace becomes broken._

_It’s not enough to lie there and hold each other. It’s hot, hot mouths and hands running along waists and heaviness, so much heaviness, when Dean rolls onto his back and Cas is hovering over him._

_The Colt underneath the pillow peeks out and Cas’ eyes gleam._

_Dean grins._

_“I, uh, like to keep it close,” he says and he’s shy. But then he angles his hips upwards and rolls them against Cas’ hardness._

_Dangerous, Cas tells him, but he lets Dean keep the gun under his pillow while he kisses him_.

 

 

 

 

“Dean, go to bed,” Sam says.

Why are you making the bed now?

It’s still night.

 

 

 

 

_Dean squeezes his eyes shut the whole time as they rock their bodies together. As they climb closer and closer to their peak._

_When they’re almost there, Dean wraps his arms around Cas. Wraps his legs around Cas’ and it’s a bear hug, maybe, and he presses his face into Cas’ neck, breathes in his scent and “need you,” he mumbles, “always here.”_

_"I’m not leaving,” Cas promises, again, and he strokes Dean’s throbbing length in just the right way, and Dean pants. He clutches Cas so hard as if this is the only way that he won’t fall apart._  

_Dean makes the mistake of believing him._

 

 

 

 

“Dean,” Sam says, as he sees Dean throw the blankets to the floor. As he sees Dean toss the pillow again and unmake his bed even more.

“Dean,” Sam says, when Dean destroys it.

 

 

 

 

_They stay in the bed for so long._

_Cas holds him and kisses him and runs his fingers through Dean’s hair so soothingly, so sweetly._

_He…_

_When Dean lets Cas help him dress again, Dean doesn’t look back before he leaves the room._

_He knows Cas will still be there._

_But after his conversation with Sam, he searches his bed and then he searches Cas’._

_Both are empty_.

 

 

 

 

“He fucked me, Sam,” Dean says and god, the fury. The fury. “He fucked me like I was nobody and he left.”

Sam sees the unmade bed and maybe he realizes for the first time.

“He said he would stay,” Dean says and his voice cracks. “He said he wouldn’t go.”

 

 

 

 

_Dean pins him against the wall. Dean pins Cas and he still remembers the sensation of Cas’ hardness against his. Still remembers hips meeting hips. He’s livid but he still thinks Cas is on his side, and it’s too early to feel betrayed._

_“Dean!” Sam chastises while Dean grits his teeth and squares his jaw and looks at Cas, looks at Cas, and Cas holds it, holds the look. He's so defiant when he meets Dean’s eyes._

_Dean could kiss him._

_Even if it’s the wrong move._

_“Dean!” Sam says and Dean’s so vulnerable, so far gone in love and so caught up._

_We’re not done, he doesn’t say, but he lets Cas go and lets his eyes devour the sight of Cas’ mouth before he moves away_.

 

 

 

 

His new phone starts ringing.

It’s been so many days since he left.

But the caller’s never Cas.

 

 

 

 

_Don’t, he says and it’s a final warning that things will never be the same, if Cas goes._

_Cas touches his forehead anyway._

_When he wakes up, he lies there still_.

 

 

 

 

It’s the Men of Letters and it’s chasing, and killing, and murder.

It’s battles hard won and Lucifer and defeat.

It’s all over.

 

 

 

 

He’s standing next to the wall, a hand outward to steady himself, and then—and then it’s Cas, sane again, no golden eyes, and he’s standing maybe five, six, seven feet away and Dean’s breath still catches in his throat. 

It’s Cas, it’s—a traitor, maybe, and Dean doesn’t know if he’s wanted anymore. And if Cas and his dying  _I love you_ was even real.

 

 

He stares at Cas with shocked eyes, because of course seeing Cas does _this_ to him and Cas just sees him, too.

Dean swallows.

He ought to look away.

But then Cas comes and he’s inches from him and when he suddenly wraps his arms around Dean, Dean just melts.

 

 

They’re breathing hard for a moment, as if maybe they’ve been running, running, running after one another and Dean’s face is wet against Cas’ neck.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says then. “Dean, I’ll do anything. I’ll redeem myself—”

But shush.

Dean says, Shut up.

 

It’s enough to just hold you here.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that's it! Thank you very much for reading and of course, comments and kudos are always appreciated if you've got the time. Other than that, if you'd like, you can visit me on Tumblr [here](http://60r3d0m.tumblr.com) where I'll be rolling in my grave every time I see another gifset of the MIXTAPE.


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